After the Night, the Morning Comes
by sailormade
Summary: His heart fluttered in his chest, angry and anxious and aching to start a fight; Brian itched to break his hand on teeth. He didn't regret what he'd said, but he wished that he and Clay could've had this conversation in private as opposed to in the middle of a crowded bar. / Written from the prompt, "things you said with the tv on mute." Clay/Brian.


**A/N:** Just a quick oneshot. Might add a short sequel after I update Light the Way. Written from the prompt, "things you said with the tv on mute."

* * *

The Clay Spenser sitting across from Brian was not the Clay Spenser that he knew. This Clay was infuriating,_ absolutely infuriating_—and the sharp words that lingered on the tip of Brian's tongue were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"You know," He started, barely containing the anger—_the disappointment_—that simmered under his skin; Clay was the brightest light in his life, and he couldn't bear to see him burn himself out. "All the years that we were together at Team 3. . . You are the only guy that I was one hundred percent certain was gonna' be Tier One Operator one day. The only guy! Not a SEAL alive that wouldn't want to operate next to that guy."

Brian scoffed. "I'd be interested to know what happened to him,"

His heart fluttered in his chest, angry and anxious and aching to start a fight; Brian itched to break his hand on teeth. He didn't regret what he'd said, but he wished that he and Clay could've had this conversation in private as opposed to in the middle of a crowded bar.

Clay was quiet. Stunned into silence. Brian took a long drink of his warm beer and watched Clay with wary eyes; On his best days, Clay's emotional state was as fragile as a bomb, prone to detonation at the slightest provocation, and today? Definitely wasn't one of Clay's best days.

"I'd be interested to know, too." Clay finally said, leaning back in his chair.

He glanced away and deflated. Brian deflated, too.

"I don't know what it is about Green Team, man," Clay continued. "I've just got this. . . damn itch under my skin. It's driving me nuts. And probably making me a little bit of a dick, too."

Understatement of the year. Brian lifted a brow. "Kind of?"

Clay picked at the label on his bottle of beer. "Okay, okay, I get it. A lot of a dick."

Brian smiled wryly. "An insufferable, self centered, egotistical, bratty, overly competitive—"

"Okay!" Clay said, laughing. "I get it. Jesus, you rag on Eli like that?"

The smile slipped from Brian's face. Eli. Hearing his name felt like a sucker-punch to the gut. Not that Clay would know. Brian had been particularly tight lipped about that particular disaster.

He took another swig of beer, quietly bracing himself for impact; Clay was going to latch onto this like a German Shepard with a rawhide bone.

"Not anymore," Brian said, "He moved out two weeks ago."

Clay furrowed his brows. "What?"

Brian shrugged. "It's. . . whatever, dude. No big deal. It wasn't like I was gonna' marry the guy."

He'd been married three times, and all that he had to show for it was two crazy ex-wives and a dirtbag ex-husband who liked to steal cars and huff paint. He doubted that he'd ever get married again.

"Yeah, Brian, Christ, that's a big deal," Clay said. "What happened? And why the hell didn't you say anything?"

'I didn't want you to worry.' Brian didn't say. He knew Clay Spenser better than Clay Spenser knew himself, and he could tell that Selection was starting to mess with Clay's mind. Clay was struggling more than he'd ever admit. Brian didn't want Clay to have to worry about him, too. He'd been through three divorces and three times as many breakups. He'd be fine. He knew how to sleep alone. Clay, on the other hand. . .

"He just couldn't handle it," Brian said. "This life, you know? He knows what I do, but he doesn't know. . . what I do."

Clay's expression softened. It was one of the many downfalls of being a Navy SEAL; You couldn't talk about what you did, or where you were in the world, or about any of the people that you've killed in the name of the greater good—you couldn't talk about much of anything. It was an unfortunate fact of life that Clay knew as well as Brian.

"I've got a lot of scars," Brian continued. "Elijah kept asking questions about how I got em', and I told him. Shot here. Shot there. Stabbed here. Stabbed there right before I cut some tango's throat. Not exactly the most romantic pillow talk in the world."

He chuckled, low and sad. Nostalgic.

"Just, the way he looked at me, Clay. And you know what he told me? He said that he couldn't believe someone he loved so much had killed so many people. And then he left. He got out of bed, put his clothes on, and left. And I didn't say anything because I didn't need you hovering and asking me if I'm okay every twenty five fucking seconds. I'm fine. It's done. I've got bigger things to worry about, like getting drafted to a Tier One Squadron."

"I'm sorry, Bri," Clay said. "That's. . . really shitty. But, if you recall, I also said that he was shitty, so."

Brian snorted. "I remember. Vividly."

Clay glanced down at his watch, then back at Brian. "Hey, man, what do you say we get out of here? It's still early. We've got time to get into some trouble."

Brian rolled his eyes and gestured toward the bar where Stella Baxter sat, looking effortlessly beautiful as always.

"You do realize that Stella is sitting like, twenty feet away, right?" He said. "You could, oh, I don't know, go talk to her. Maybe explain why you haven't called."

"I'll call her tomorrow. Right now, me and you? We're outta' here."

Brian groaned. "Here we go."

Clay stood up. "C'mon, we're off to celebrate your newfound freedom! What is it you always say? The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one?"

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed; He could already feel the migraine starting. "I said that, like, twice, Clay."

"Well, whatever. We're leaving."

And they did.

Brian reluctantly followed Clay out of the bar. Though, on the way out, he gave Stella a friendly wave. She waved back with a disappointed smile; It was obvious that she'd been waiting for Clay to come and say hello. Brian wished that, just once, Clay would get his shit together and ask her out on an actual date.

Brian liked Stella. A lot. She was good for Clay. Really good. It was easy to envision a warm, sunlight future with them at the center. Not to mention, Stella went out of her way to help Brian with his paper. She'd been thrilled, and more than a little surprised, to learn that he almost had his masters degree in social work. Brian gladly considered her a friend.

God, he hoped Clay didn't fuck things up with Stella.

Outside, night was bleeding into the evening, painting the sky in watercolor shades of light purple and cobalt blue, with orange streaked across the horizon line. Stars were beginning to dot the sky.

Brian smiled sadly as he followed Clay down the sidewalk. Virginia Beach was his home, and he loved it dearly, but he missed the deep south, too. He missed Louisiana; Missed walking barefoot in the bayou at twelve years old, tossing veal to the wild alligators and catching fireflies in his hands. Brian missed the wet heat, and the feel of mud between his toes, and the rustle of the wind through the drooping branches of the willow trees, and he missed the hissing of the gators as they fought over cuts of dead, seasoned deer.

Brian had always been gentle with the fireflies. He never wanted to lock them away in a jar. Never wanted to squish them. He just wanted to see their light as they crawled along his bruised arms. He would wish on them like shooting stars when they flew away.

Brian tried to treat Clay the same way.

"You comin', man?" Clay asked, pulling Brian from his thoughts. "You're lagging behind."

"Yeah," Brian replied. "Sorry. Just. . . Lost in my own head, I guess. Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want. It's your broken heart."

Brian rolled his eyes. "I don't have a broken heart. I have an angry, irritated heart because I gave Eli six months of my life that I'll never get back, but it's not broken."

Clay quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. So, where we going?"

"Home."

"Okay," Clay said. "Your place or mine?"

Brian snorted. "You use that line on Stella, too?"

Clay opened his mouth to retort, but Brian cut him off. "My place."

And they went.

* * *

Brian's apartment was too small for Clay's taste, and too big for Brian's.

After aging out of the group home that he'd been sent to after his father's incarceration, Brian spent a little over two months alternating between living in a homeless shelter and on the couches of and in the backseats of his acquaintance's cars. He learned how to live with little to no space at all, and how to be hungry to the point of tears for days, and how to discreetly steal just enough to keep himself alive. His warm, spacious apartment and his fridge full of food were more than enough to keep him happy.

Not that Clay knew that about his time in the shelter. Or Elijah. Or anyone.

Brian could handle a lot of things, but he couldn't handle the pity. He'd been homeless and hungry, so what? He survived. And now he was a Navy fucking SEAL with (almost) two degrees. He graduated with honors. There were so many others who'd had, and still have, it worse than he did.

Clay let himself into the apartment and immediately flopped down on Brian's couch. He sprawled out, making himself at home, and Brian tried not to think about how him and Elijah had their first kiss where Clay was sitting. Maybe he'd tell Clay they fucked there just to screw with him.

"We're eating our weight in pizza and bread sticks and watching Adult Swim until our brains rot from the sheer stupidity. You're being a party pooper, so you don't get a choice in the matter. Buck up, buddy. It's this or bar hopping."

Brian sighed, resigned to his fate, and toed his shoes off while Clay switched on the flat screen. He kicked them to the side and dropped down next to Clay. He kicked his feet up on the glass coffee table next to Clay's.

Their shoulders brushed.

"You really are the biggest pain in my ass." Brian said.

Clay grinned, warm and bright and real, and Brian couldn't help but grin back. Clay's smiles, his laughter; They were infectious.

It scared Brian, sometimes, what he'd be willing to do to keep Clay safe and smiling.

Clay waggled his eyebrows. "What, more than Eli was?"

"Oh, ha ha, the macho straight boy has jokes."

They aren't drunk by any stretch of the imagination, but they're more than a little tipsy. Back at the bar, one beer had turned to two, and two to three, and three to almost four; More than enough to lower Brian's inhibitions and persuade him to make a poor choice or two. Clay, too.

"I have a question." Clay said.

He muted the episode of King of The Hill that was playing, and Brian braced for impact. If Clay was pausing the TV, it must be something serious.

"Yeah?" Brian asked.

Clay blinked at him once, twice. He seemed anxious, all of a sudden. Brian had a bad feeling.

"How did you know?" He asked.

Know what? Brian asked as much. "Know what, man?"

"How'd you know you liked guys?"

Jesus Christ. Talk about coming out of the left field.

Clay's eyes were wide with surprise, as though he couldn't quite believe that he'd just asked what he asked. Brian couldn't blame him; Clay's upbringing was much different than his own. Brian had had to raise himself, and figure out who he was on his own, and when he did. . . Well, there wasn't anyone there to tell, and so there wasn't anyone to fill his head with confusing, bigoted, stereotypical nonsense. There wasn't anyone to tell him that he was confused, or shameful. He simply filed Guys Are Hot away next to Megan Fox is a Goddess and I Have Homework Due Tonight and moved on.

Sometimes he dated men. Sometimes he dated women. Sometimes he sat on the couch and ate his weight in cream cheese when those options broke his heart.

Clay spent his entire life trying to appease an absent, hateful father; Brian doubted that bringing home a boyfriend would give Ash Spenser anything other than an ulcer, the bastard.

"Well," Brian said, relaxing back into the couch. "I was. . . nineteen, I think, maybe twenty. I hadn't been in the Navy two years yet. Me and a couple buddies were hanging out on the beach, and I saw this lifeguard run by. Blonde hair, blue eyes, six pack; The whole stereotypical beach boy package. And it just sort of dawned on me and I was like, yeah, shit, I'd like to lick every grain of sand off of those abs. And then I thought, huh, that's some new information about myself."

Clay snorted. "That easy, huh?"

"For me. Everyone's different."

Clay nodded, and unpaused King of The Hill.

"Okay." He said.

Brian snatched the remote from his Clay's hands and paused the show. Again.

"Hey!" Clay protested.

Brian's mouth formed a hard line. "Okay, you're not just gonna' ask a question like that and go back to watching Hank Hill jerk off to a tank of propane."

Clay groaned. "I don't know, man, I'm. . . I had a little too much to drink, I think. Just ignore me. I've been told I get chatty, the more I drink."

Brian leveled with him a look, one that said the conversation was absolutely not going to be dropped.

"I never wanted a kiss a guy until I met you," Clay said, and goddammit, Brian really should have let the conversation be dropped. He shouldn't have paused the TV again.

"It. . . scares me, kinda." Clay admitted, and Brian understood. "And I'm not scared of anything, okay? I'm not. Except, like, Thai food. And the wrath of Jason Hayes. So I don't know why that would scare me. Especially because it's you. But it does."

Brian wasn't sure what to say. He was absolutely too tipsy for this conversation.

Brian loved Clay. Of course, he loved Clay. They'd be at each other's side for years, through BUD/S, Team 3, and now Green Team. . . But how did he love him? Could he love Clay the way that he loved Elijah? Katie? Marilyn? Daniel? Did he already?

Could Brian love anyone at all, in a way that truly mattered?

The question made Brian's chest tight. He'd had more than enough curious straight boys in his bed; He certainly had no desire for another. And, Christ, if Master Chief Seaver ever found out. . .

But here Clay was, sitting so close to Brian that he could smell his godawful aftershave, and warmth radiated off of him as though he were the goddamn sun. Clay felt solid and alive where he was pressed against Brian's side, and his eyes were glassy and wide and bright, hopeful and questioning, and. . .

And it dawned on Brian that he would never have to explain to Clay the road-map of scars that littered his skin. Clay was there when he got the worst of them. He still had more than Clay, but at least Clay could understand why.

"That's okay," Brian said, voice softening on its own accord. "I— Can I kiss you?"

Clay nodded and whispered, "Yeah, okay."

And Brian did.

(They didn't get around to ordering the pizza. Or the bread sticks.)

* * *

**NOT BETA'D BECAUSE WE DIE LIKE MEN.** There are probably 10 billion mistakes in this but 1) it's almost midnight & I wanted to get this posted 2) I will fix typos/grammar problems tomorrow.


End file.
